The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [91]
“Then Trebizond might suffer a brief siege, which Astorre says it can stand very well. On the other hand, the Sultan might lose. Uzum Hasan can call on a lot of help. Otherwise, why that ridiculous levy of horse-harness?”
“You mean the Pope and the Duke of Burgundy are going to send a crusade?” Tobie said.
“I mean I think Uzum Hasan and the Emperor of Trebizond hope that the Sultan thinks the West is going to send a fleet to attack him,” Nicholas said.
“In fact,” said Tobie, “we need an astrologer. What happened to your ominous Greek? I thought he was going to read the entrails for you.”
Nicholas said, “I don’t know if I’d believe him if he did. The truth is that no one knows what will happen, or will know for a month, because land campaigning can’t start until then. By that time, we’ll be with the Emperor in Trebizond, and committed. I’m willing to take the risk and go on, but if anyone else isn’t, now is the last chance to say so. We can’t stay in Pera. We can only turn back, or go and accept whatever is going to happen.”
Tobie said, “You’re a bit late, aren’t you, with the offer? Julius is asleep, and le Grant is getting the ship ready to leave.”
“Le Grant knows the position, and all the senior officers,” Nicholas said. “And you heard Julius. He wouldn’t abandon the girl. He knows there may be war. We’ve always known this.”
“Well, that’s true,” said Tobie. “It only worries me when I hear it translated into dates and numbers and long Turkish titles. Then it’s Trebizond, come what may, with our arthritic hundred?”
“Why not?” said Nicholas. “Jason went. If he and Pagano Doria can manage it, I don’t see why we should be frightened and poor instead of frightened and rich. So we go?”
“Well, of course,” said Godscalc mildly. “What is all this about? Did you think we were going to swim back to Bruges?”
Nicholas smiled at him. “It’s not about anything but Tobie’s liking for taking plumb readings. Like you. I don’t mind. A pledge. To Trebizond, and a pox on Pagano. Which reminds me—”
“Yes,” said Father Godscalc smoothly. “I thought of that. And so did you, of course, when you entered that house. The Doria and her commander will have to leave Pera too.”
As the Ottoman troops had departed, so with speed did the provisioning craft make their appearance, take their orders, and return with the water and food the galley demanded. No one set foot on board. The casks and boxes were winched up with a boom for crane and settled below, where unscrewed panels and gaping barrels and chests showed where the craftsmen of Modon had concealed ninety-eight soldiers and Astorre.
To the watching boats as dusk fell the Florentine galley might have seemed to lie dark on the water, sober now and aware of her fate. Instead, behind the drawn curtains and heavy shutters, there was taking place a celebration of muted exuberance. When sleep came, it claimed contented men.
Through it all, Nicholas fizzed and exploded among them, with a cup never far from his hand. Godscalc made no effort to check him, then or later, when he took the mattress next to him for what was to be left of the night. Rising from his knees, he looked across once, before he rolled into his pallet, but Nicholas was quite still.
Halfway through the short night Godscalc spoke in a low voice, “Are you not asleep yet?” He heard a short exhalation, possibly of amusement.
Nicholas said, “In spite of all I’ve drunk?”
It was still too dark to see outlines. The cabin was full of the sound of other men’s breathing. Godscalc leaned his weight on one elbow and addressed the darkness, clasping his hands. He said, “There wasn’t a dead child. There is a perfectly happy living child who may never need help. But if she does, there is no better person she could wish to have near her. It is not your fault, what has happened. You could have done nothing else.”
“You don’t know. It is my fault,” said Nicholas.
Beyond, Tobie, himself long awake, heard the exchange, which ended there. Once he, too, had been tempted to interfere, but had been wiser. His was not the